


Knit One, Purl One

by Freckles_From_Brooklyn



Series: Preemptive Fix-it Fics because god knows we're gonna need it [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Jon steals Martin's sweaters, M/M, Martin loves to knit, No I don't have that headcanon because I love to knit next question, Preemptive fix it, Yes I call Jon's season 5 statements his psychic piss breaks no I will not explain myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29025834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckles_From_Brooklyn/pseuds/Freckles_From_Brooklyn
Summary: Martin loves to knit
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Preemptive Fix-it Fics because god knows we're gonna need it [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132277
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	Knit One, Purl One

Martin loved to knit. It had all started when he was little, when he watched his nan knit in the evenings, her needles clicking softly as she worked. He’d loved the sweaters she made him out of soft, colorful yarn. More than that, he’d wanted to learn how to do what she did. After years of begging, she started teaching him, despite his mother’s protests that it wasn’t right for a boy to be knitting. Martin had fallen in love immediately. It had been a little tricky at first, but he learned quickly, and soon he was learning how to knit intricate patterns into his work, moving on to more complicated projects. He loved the feel of the yarn under his fingertips, the sound of the needles clicking together, the satisfaction of finishing a project and knowing that  _ he’d made that with his own two hands. _

Jumpers were Martin’s favorite thing to make. In fact, most of the jumpers that he owned were ones he’d made himself. What was the point of buying a premade jumper when he could make one by hand and be assured that the materials were good quality and would last a long time? He knitted things for his friends too, as gifts, but these gifts were rarely sweaters. In fact, he’d only given one hand-knitted sweater as a gift: it had gone to Sasha, the original Sasha, for her birthday, and even that had taken months of begging from both Sasha and Tim. Her squeal of delight when she tore off the paper to reveal the dark purple jumper, adorned with heart-shaped Celtic knot cables, had almost convinced Martin to start making sweaters as gifts for people. Almost. 

Knitting kept Martin mostly sane during the apocalypse. It had been easy enough to throw some knitting needles and a few skeins of yarn into his pack, and it helped calm him down and pass the time while Jon took his psychic piss breaks. He came out of the apocalypse with several scarves and shawls, as well as a new pair of socks.

Living with Jon after the apocalypse was different. It was calm. It was peaceful. He wasn’t worried about a million different things every day. Of course, this meant he was better prepared to worry about other things, like why his sweaters kept disappearing. Oftentimes he’d go looking for them, only to find Jon wearing them, reading a book on the couch, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea. 

“Seriously, why don’t you ever wear your own clothes?” Martin complained after he’d found Jon in his jumper for the umpteenth time. 

“I like your sweater,” Jon said. “It makes me feel—”

“It makes you feel like a thief!” Martin interrupted. Jon peered over his glasses at Martin, giving him that irresistible little half-smile that always made Martin melt. 

“It makes me feel  _ safe _ ,” he said. “Your sweaters smell like you. Mine don’t.” so Martin came up with a plan: he knit an assortment of sweaters in Jon’s favorite colors, wore them for a few weeks, then made sure they were the only ones in his drawer. Sure enough, they disappeared, only to reappear on Jon. A few weeks later, they were back in Martin’s laundry basket, a sure sign that his scent had worn off, and the cycle started again. It was a convoluted plan, sure, but Martin’s sweaters stopped disappearing after that. 

“Do you think you could teach me how to knit?” Jon asked one night as he and Martin sat curled up on the couch together. 

“What, you can’t just Know how to do it?” Martin teased. Jon stuck his tongue out at him. 

“ _ First _ of all, I don’t have my Beholding powers anymore and you know that, you ass,” he retorted. “ _ Second  _ of all, even if I did still have them, they didn’t work like that.  _ Third _ of all, maybe I want to learn from my boyfriend.” Martin laughed, kissing Jon’s cheek. 

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he said. “Of course I can teach you. Give me just a minute.” he grabbed a pair of needles and a spare ball of yarn and cast on ten stitches before handing the whole affair to Jon and picking up a project of his own. “Now watch what I do,” He said, doing a single knit stitch. 

“Hang on, you’re going too fast!” Jon complained. “Slow down!” Martin did another one, slower this time. “Like this?” Jon asked, doing everything wrong. 

“Not even close,” Martin said. “Give it here, let me undo that.” Jon huffed and handed over his knitting, watching as Martin quickly got him back to square one. “Here, let me tell you a rhyme that my nan used when she taught me,” Martin said. “ _ In through the front door, run around the back, out through the window, off jumps Jack _ .” He demonstrated each step as he recited the corresponding line. 

“In through the front door, run around the back, out through the window, off jumps Jack,” Jon repeated, going slowly through the motions and doing them correctly this time. “Like that?” 

“Exactly like that!” Martin said. “Now let’s see if you can do the rest of the row.” Slowly but surely, Jon completed the row, mumbling the rhyme under his breath as he went, his brow furrowed in concentration. It was one of the cutest things Martin had ever seen. When Jon was finished with the row, he passed his needles to Martin, who inspected his work. 

“Perfect,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to Jon’s lips. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”

“All thanks to my amazing teacher,” Jon replied, smiling. 


End file.
